


Drabbles from 01/05/2013

by azure_rosa



Series: Drabble Night [21]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_rosa/pseuds/azure_rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five drabbles written in chat for the monthly Drabble/Drawable night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabbles from 01/05/2013

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If you think any of these characters are mine please tell me what world you live in so I can move there posthaste!  
> Rating: these are all pretty low rated, I'd say g-pg-13 tops, heed the warnings.

A secret promise WC 136 possible angst depending on what era you assume this takes place

The problem with secret promises is there is no one to cajole you into keeping them. Talking to Lupin about what had happened last week was necessary for his peace of mind let alone his happiness. Severus knew he needed to follow the promise he made himself. 

He had to chose whether to brush off the almost kiss or to confront it and maybe gain more than Lupin’s friendship as a result. Of course the possibility that he had misunderstood or that Lupin had changed his mind after they were interrupted loomed large and threatening in his mind. 

So much to lose, yet even more to gain. Decision made Severus gathered his courage and sought his quarry. He did not find him, but he did find Black who was more than happy to point the way.

 

Transformation (Snupin100 prompt) WC 3x 100 angst

Remus had known Severus for most of his life and he still didn’t have a simple box to shove the other man in. When they first met Severus was the quiet, nerdy boy with eyes far too old and tired for his age. In fifth year he was the angry, disenfranchised youth who routinely argued with teachers about magical theory and managed to prove them wrong on several memorable occasions. As a seventh year Remus had suspected that Severus already had the brand of a death eater upon his arm and if pressed would admit that the thought saddened him. 

Once the First War ended Severus was once again defying expectations, fighting against the Death Eaters rather than for them even if he was fighting surreptitiously. Remus was surprised by the about-face, but pleased. The between time was harder to keep track of, Remus was always on the move, trying to keep body and soul together as he worked odd jobs and protected the world from himself. The year he taught showed another facet of Severus’ personality, colder, more restrained than before, but he soon learned that Severus’ temper wasn’t gone, merely buried behind a disdainful and brutally controlled mask.

It was the Final Battle which showed the full range of Severus to Remus. He had presumed that his classmate had been motivated to join the Death Eaters for the same reasons as his fellows and left when it no longer suited him. He had assumed Severus was as cold as he pretended to be. Learning that Severus had an even bigger heart than Remus had dared hope for gave him the courage to approach. He had been fascinated by Severus for as long as he could remember, maybe his feelings were returned. His courage was rewarded with a kiss.

 

Haunted by a Dream WC 231 Angst, Mentions of PTSD and war. No offense intended.

The trouble with living through multiple wars isn’t the memories that ambush you at the slightest provocation during the waking hours, they are bad enough though with therapy, legilimency and practice they can be mostly disarmed, no it is your dreams that get you.

No matter the mental disciplines you learn, no matter what you try, sooner or later the horrors you refuse to remember during your waking hours resurface and once again you are caught in the middle of a battle with nowhere to run.

You see friend and foe alike cut down before your eyes and it is all too much, you cannot process it. Humans can’t comprehend more than about twenty deaths at the same time so how are you supposed to cope with hundreds if not thousands?

How are you supposed to live with the guilt of surviving when other, younger, smarter, faster, better people fell on both sides? How are you supposed to explain this to someone who sat at home, warm and safe while you fought? 

How do you explain that the horror you feel for the death you saw bears no allegiance to any cause or group? You don’t. You can’t. All Remus can do is cling to Severus when he awakens, screaming into the silence of the night and know that here is someone he _doesn’t_ have to explain it to.

 

Fragile Memory WC 242 

Some memories are inexplicably vivid, the sights, colors, sounds and even smells return to you in an instant, others are inexplicably dull. Despite what one might think the most important and treasured memories are not always vibrant. 

Sometimes they have been relived so many times that they fade, hemorrhaging color and detail with each visit. They become thin and faded like a piece of cloth washed too many times. Despite this they become more precious to their owners due to the fading as opposed to less. 

In a world where memories can be removed in their entirety to view as vibrant as the day they occurred faded memories are completely avoidable. And yet Remus clings to the pieces of memory he has left of his loved ones because he knows that all of them are not as noble, kind or handsome as his memory paints them.

He knows that Sirius and James could be cruel, not just to those they disliked but also to those they did. He knows that Lily was not as kind or forgiving as he likes to remember her. He knows that Peter was not always a bad person, but it is easier to forget. He knows Severus’ past is checkered at best and that he chooses to forget his role, accidental as it was, in the deaths of James and Lily. Remus knows he chooses to forget that he remembers wrong, but he prefers it that way.

 

Photographs WC 450 Memory loss

Severus was never one for photographs. He didn’t see the point in them. People claimed they helped you remember things and people, but as far as he could work out they only worked if you managed to remember them in the first place. Not the most effective aid if your memory was wiped and considering the effect Nagini’s poison had on him he could not fathom why they insisted on shoving photo after photo under his nose.

He did quickly notice that most of the pictures of him where he seemed to almost be behaving included a rather drab man who was very brown. His eyes were brown and his hair was brown, though in most of them it was streaked with silver as well, and even his clothes were brown aside from his shirt which was white and his scarf which was a rather striking green.

He quickly noticed that the scarf was always the same when the weather called for it until he saw a picture of what could only be a much younger version of the same man in some kind of uniform. In that picture the younger incarnation of the man was surrounded by three other boys in the same uniform with red ties. 

As he watched the image of the much younger man reached under his shirt and pulled out a small, silver medallion on a matching chain, held it up to the camera and then held the index finger of his other hand up to his mouth like he was imparting a secret to Severus. With that link, and not much else to do what with having lost his memory and nearly his voice as well, Severus flipped back through the photos and every once in awhile managed to catch a glimpse of a silver chain around the man’s neck.

The medallion meant something important, something secret, he was sure of it. He hadn’t the foggiest idea what exactly and it made him inexplicably sad, like he had lost something rare and precious. The next day an even older version of the man from the photos came to see him. He didn’t say much, but as he leaned over to tug the sheets higher up my chest the medallion fell out of the confines of his shirt and into plain view.

The man caught his questioning gaze, blushed and then spoke, “It was your mother’s. Do you remember me at all?” At that a hopeful look spread across his features. I knew that expression on that face, there wasn’t much, but I had a flash of that expression and of happiness. I found myself answering honestly and without thought, “Yes, I think I do.”


End file.
